


Moments

by KatyaJade



Category: Still Star-Crossed (TV)
Genre: F/M, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-22
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2018-11-17 05:18:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11268723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatyaJade/pseuds/KatyaJade
Summary: So many little moments to explore, so many prompts to write.





	1. Apologies

**Author's Note:**

> This moment sprung from the "I'm sorry/Me too" moment in Episode 3. I felt I knew why Rosaline would apologize and her motivation for going forward with the engagement, but why Benvolio? What made him apologize to Rosaline? I wanted to see the scenes that led up to this moment.

~ooOOoo~

The soft ringing of the church bells echoed in Rosaline’s ears as she moved hurriedly through the empty Verona streets. She turned the final corner before reaching her destination – _her freedom_ – and stopped suddenly, the gentle night breeze causing a lock of her dark hair to caress her cheek.  All she had to do was continue walking – exit the alleyway, get into the carriage and let it carry her away to the safety of the nunnery. It would be over then. She would be free.

 _But what of Livia? What of my sister?_ – Her doubts repeated themselves over and over in her mind.

Her sister would be left alone to fend for herself. Together the two of them had faced the both the good and the tragic events in their lives and remained strong because they had been there for each other. But now, here Rosaline stood with her cloak and hastily packed belongings ready to flee to a sanctuary and abandon her sister rather than face the thought of marriage to that man.

No. Not _just_ a man. A _Montague_. And weren’t all the Montague’s thieves, schemers and liars? She huffed to herself as if she were face to face with one of them now. The Montague's had killed her beloved cousin Juliet just as surely as the sun rose in the morning.

Yet…had they really? Juliet loved Romeo. Enough to die for him – and he for her. There were plenty of Capulet's who proved themselves false and petty. Her aunt first among them.  

Rosaline stepped to the side and leaned against the stone wall to steady herself and calm the torrent of thoughts thundering in her head. The sack dropped from her hand as she brought her fingers to massage her temples. Benvolio was a Montague – but he’d also saved her at the violent hand of his kinsman.  Although crass and obviously self-centered, Rosaline hadn’t seen the Montague act cruelly towards her – or others, for that matter. He was just as much of a pawn in this ridiculous game as she was.

And should she leave – run away like a coward – her sister would be the pawn in a new game. One that might bring her more misery than Rosaline’s marriage to a self-indulgent, spoiled nobleman.

Rosaline pushed away from the wall and bent down to pick up her satchel. She glanced once more in the direction of the carriage that was waiting to take her away from her new life as a Montague. Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, Rosaline turned and made her way back to the Capulet villa.

It was time she and her uncle came to an understanding.

~ooOOoo~

Benvolio paced the streets. He wanted nothing more than to drown himself in drink. His conversation with Stella had not gone to plan. He’d made arrangements for the Capulet to be gone from the city and out of his life so that he could escape this damnable place and start a new life. He thought Stella felt as he, but she rejected his idea to leave Verona. Rejected _him_. More confirmation that God must truly feel Benvolio wasn’t worthy of anyone’s love.

He was now truly alone.

Gritting his teeth, his resolve crumbled and he turned, heading toward the tavern at the end of the road – one not frequented by anyone of polite company - and he was most certainly not that this night.

“Signor! Signor Montague!” A voice called out from behind.

He stopped just short of the tavern entrance and looked over his shoulder, his hand instinctively going to the hilt of his sword. A young boy – no more than ten and five years – ran toward him, waving his arm.

Benvolio cocked his head and raised his eyebrow. “Who calls?”

The young man bowed and stood back up, his chest heaving, trying to catch his breath. “Sig...nor..."

The Montague shook his head, the corner of his mouth rising despite his foul mood. “Boy…I am here. You need not collapse from exhaustion. Take a moment to collect yourself, then deliver your message.” He crossed his arms over his chest and waited as the boy calmed himself.

The brown haired teen shook his head and took a deep breath. “Thank you, Signor.” He continued only slightly less out of breath than he was a moment ago. “I was sent to deliver you a message. The carriage for which you’d arranged this evening was not used. The lady meant to travel this night did not arrive.”

Benvolio’s brow furrowed in confusion. “She…did not leave?”

“No, Signor. I was told only that ‘she has chosen to remain’ and that you were to be informed.” He took another deep breath. “It took me some time to find you.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, attempting to make sense of this new development. Benvolio was only vaguely aware of the messenger still standing in front of him. He reached into his coin purse, and handed the boy a token for his trouble.

“Thank you, boy. That will be all.”

Another bow, and the young man turned and ran back up the way he’d come.

Benvolio began walking – running the information again through his mind. Capulet didn’t leave. He’d provided her the opportunity to rid herself of this marriage arrangement yet she’d chosen to stay. He couldn’t imagine why should would remain and bind herself to a man she obviously hated.

Or did she? Did Rosaline hate him so much? He certainly didn't hate the Capulet. He was furious at their situation, to be sure, but he didn't blame her for their predicament. They’d quarreled over their cousins. Laid blame at each other’s feet over and over. But he’d seen her with Escalus – she was obviously in love with him. Her anger may be directed at Benvolio but it was driven by the Prince’s own dismissal of her affection.

He chuffed softly to himself. “Of all people, I know the sting of rejection.”

He would find out her reasons for remaining, he was sure, but it would not happen tonight.  As he made his way back to the Montague compound, he found his step a bit lighter and his mood improved. On the morrow he would be betrothed to a Capulet.

But he would no longer be alone.

~ooOOoo~

The whole of Verona turned out for the ceremony. Rosaline walked down the steps, smiling and acting the part of the giddy bride. Her eyes fell upon Benvolio, and she faltered a bit in her step. He _was_ handsome – especially when he smiled.

She hadn’t seen him since she’d abandoned her plan – _their_ plan – to leave Verona the previous evening. She’d hoped for an opportunity, however brief, where she could provide him an explanation. But the activity surrounding the afternoon's ceremony had not lent itself to such a meeting. She knew he must be angry. How could he not with her ruining his life? Despite knowing the reason for her actions and saving her sister, Rosaline felt genuinely sorry for what she’d done and the repercussions for the man standing before her.

Her hand left her uncle’s and she walked toward her betrothed.

“Greetings, my love.”

There were many things she wanted to say to him in this moment, but she would have to wait until later and hope that she hadn’t ruined the possibility that they could have a civil marriage despite it being forced on both of them.

As he leaned in to kiss her cheek, she whispered in his ear, “I’m sorry.”

As soon as the words left her lips, she inwardly recoiled as she anticipated his response. Would he growl in her ear? Remain silent and stoic in his anger? She surprised herself by how anxious she was at this moment – caring about what a Montague, of all people, would say to her.

As much as she surprised herself by her own spontaneous apology, she was more than astounded at the words she heard whispered in her own ear. “Me too.”

He'd apologized to _her_. When she was the one who'd gone back on their agreement. Who'd put them both in the middle of this ridiculous spectacle.

As they parted from each other, they smiled. Not a pretend or plastered on smile, but one of understanding.

It was a start.


	2. Ties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt is Benvolio's comment to Stella "“Anything that ever tied me to this place is gone.”
> 
> What was he thinking just after Rosaline left him in the alleyway? Where did he go? And so off I went.

~ooOOoo~

Benvolio sat in the courtyard of his family’s compound, still covered in smoke and sweat from the day’s events. He brought a gilded silver goblet filled with sour red wine to his lips and drank deeply. The liquid burned his throat and he surprised himself by recoiling slightly at the sensation. Since Romeo’s death, Benvolio had sought out drink, women and fights as his methods of dealing with the pain. It was easier to find ways to obliterate the feelings of loss and isolation than it was to face the realities of his new life.

While Romeo and Mercutio lived, his purpose had been to support his kinsmen – he’d always been in shadow rather than light. The level headed one of the three; Benvolio knew that it was his role to keep Mercutio in check and Romeo safe.

 _What a bloody wonderful job you did on all counts_ , his inner voice spat.

After their deaths, Benvolio was resigned to his fate. Despite his uncle’s venom, he remained loyal to his house and family name. But his commitment – albeit begrudgingly - to remain in the Montague household meant that he needed to find ways to numb the ache in his heart. He’d become a frequent visitor to Verona’s taverns although only one brothel served his needs.

He took another drink and it burned once again.  

Stella. She’d been his last flicker of hope that he could escape his responsibilities. His Montague prison. The idea of leaving Verona had been germinating even before they’d lost Romeo and Mercutio. There was no love lost between Benvolio and his uncle, but now with the young Montague being sold off to the Capulets, he thought it might be his only opportunity to break free and start a new life.

Stella had rejected him. Her quiet word cut deeper than any cruel words flung at him by his uncle. He’d left the brothel and heard from one of his servants that Rosaline hadn’t taken the carriage to the abbey. Which left him once again facing marriage to a woman he didn’t – _couldn’t?_ – love and living a life that wasn’t his to control. During the ceremony, he’d seen Stella in the crowd. Her presence a painful reminder of his loneliness.

Then the world had exploded in chaos and he’d found himself running alongside Rosaline Capulet, of all people, through the streets of Verona on a mission to apprehend the villain who’d inflicted such grievous harm on his city.

Benvolio smiled. It had been _exhilarating_. For the first time in months, Benvolio felt alive and burdened with a purpose. And it had all been due to her. A harsh tongued, stubborn… _beautiful_ …Capulet. She was smart as well. It was her keen observation that let them to the realization of a plot against their houses – and Verona itself.

His finger brushed the outside of the goblet as he thought of the day’s events. Rosaline had surprised him - first with her apology and then with her willingness to charge into danger. He’d misjudged her as a harpy – a selfish peasant who wanted to raise her station.

Benvolio ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. Why wouldn’t she want to raise her station? She’d been no doubt abused by her aunt and uncle, a prisoner within her own household. The Prince himself – obviously infatuated with her – had consigned her to marry into the family of her enemy. If anyone was being sold off, it was Rosaline Capulet.

Yet she’d set her personal motives aside to pursue a common enemy.  When they’d looked down upon Truccio’s broken body, she’d whispered, “What have _we_ done?” She didn’t blame Benvolio for the death of his kinsman when she could have easily turned the events of the day back on him. Rosaline hadn’t finished the binding ceremony, being interrupted by Truccio and his cowardly act. She could have returned to the Prince and informed him of Benvolio’s murder – albeit accidental – of another and the betrothal would have been a thing of the past.

She did no such thing. For that, and many other reasons, Benvolio Montague found himself thinking of the Capulet in an entirely new light.

Finding the culprit to the attack was the first priority, naturally. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t discover more about his bride to be.

Benvolio drained the last of the wine and stood up. He would bathe first and then, perhaps, check in on his beloved.

~ooOOoo~


	3. Counting the Hours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Response to Nao's prompt (why can't you gift a chapter because that's weird - so I tagged her/him as co-creator) - what was Rosaline thinking after Benvolio teased her about 'counting the hours' until their wedding.

~ooOOoo~

The day after the explosion in the town square, Rosaline and her sister found themselves tending to the injured – and dying – victims of the attack. As ladies of the Capulet household, they should have been nowhere near the grim realities faced by the citizens of Verona. Their aunt had protested mightily when the sisters donned their aprons and marched toward the door to leave.

_“You will do no such thing! A lady does not debase herself among the peasants! You will bring even more shame to this house than you have already!”_

Rosaline wrung out a cloth, watching the blood mix with water and sighed to herself – her aunt’s words echoing through her head. How she hated that woman. She couldn’t wait to be out of the Capulet house and away from both her aunt and uncle. Free to do what she pleased.

She paused realizing the familiar train of thought – one that had come up too often in the last few days. Away from the household meant marriage to the Montague.

_“…and here I thought you were counting the hours.”_

His last words before their separation the previous evening had been a jape – throwing her statement during their mockery of a picnic back in her face. Yet…she’d had no retort – no argument. Perhaps she was too distracted by their adventure in pursing the villain behind the treachery. Perhaps…there had been truth in those words.

Marriage to the Montague felt like a prison sentence at the time of the prince's declaration. Her freedom had been ripped away from her without a second thought by the man who'd professed to love her. She'd _wanted_ to go to the nunnery - escaping both her dreaded betrothal and any future interaction with Escalus. Yet, while she'd prepared her departure, Rosaline had time to think upon her predicament and the choice she was to make. A choice that would impact not only her, but her sister. In the quiet of the Capulet household after the discussion with her uncle, she began to truly deliberate over the man to whom she was betrothed.

In the church that fateful evening, Benvolio had protested the marriage of Romeo and Juliet just as much as she. He’d also saved her at the hands of the despicable Truccio the day of the riot. She knew he’d seen her and the prince in the alcove yet said nothing of his discovery. Montague could have berated her for refusing to take the carriage to the abbey yet he’d accepted her apology during the betrothal ceremony without protest. And when she’d taken off running after the explosion, he’d followed without objection.

So when he’d teased her about counting the hours to their wedding, she hadn’t disagreed. She could honestly imagine a life away from her aunt and uncle where Livia would be safe. After all the sisters endured, the possibility of a life free from the Capulets and their scorn seemed an answer to their troubles.

Rosaline turned and continued her ministrations on the wounds of the young man who lay before her. Charred flesh rendered black by fire, still there was no complaint to be heard from his unconscious form. She did the best she could to clean and dress the injuries, knowing it was unlikely the young man would live to appreciate her careful work.

She gathered the cloth and stood up, only to see the strong form of Benvolio Montague leaning against a stone column, his hand upon the hilt of his sword. He did cut a rather dashing figure in his doublet, she thought absentmindedly.

The young woman nodded her head in his direction and moved to the table to deposit the bowl and soiled linens. After a moment, she felt his presence next to her. A warmth and comfort she was surprised to welcome.

“Capulet.”

His voice was low and quiet – out of deference to the injured and dying around them, to be sure, but... _possibly out of respect for his fiancé as well...you dolt_ \- her inner voice chided.

“Montague.” She responded and offered no additional reply.

“I went to your villa and was told you’d come down here.”

“Of course I'm here. Would you expect me to sit in that house all day, doing nothing to help the people after an attack during _our_ betrothal ceremony? I am not useless, Montague.”

He placed his hand upon hers, stilling her motion. “ _Peace_ , Capulet. I would never call you useless. On the contrary. You are one of the most fearless women I’ve ever come across.”

Rosaline looked up at him, expecting the same teasing countenance she’d seen in his eyes the day before. Yet there was no such expression. His eyes bored into hers with sincerity and…appreciation?

“Well…thank you.”

He removed his hand from hers and she felt the sudden coldness from his lack of touch keenly on her skin.

“Would you like some help?”

Rosaline smiled and nodded. “Yes…Benvolio. I would appreciate your assistance.”

She watched as the corner of his mouth rose in a gentle smile at the use of his given name. It remained there while she placed the fresh linens in his hands. He cast his eyes downward, almost shyly, when he spoke again.

“Perhaps after we finish, I may escort you and your sister back to your household.” He shrugged, looking more like a timid schoolboy than the confident Montague heir. “I’d hoped we could talk more…about those behind the attack.” He paused. “And about…other things.”

Rosaline tilted her head and looked her fiancé in the eyes.

“I’ll be counting the hours, my lord.”

His smile grew larger at her words - the jape now something intimate between the two of them rather than a barb to be used against one another.

Rosaline once again found the truth in those words. Counting the hours, indeed.

~ooOOoo~


	4. Saviors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guys - I started this thing to fulfill my need to write a rescue trope. Then realized what I'd written was a tad too close to the book. Then realized that I wanted more Rosvolio moments. So this monster happened.

~ooOOoo~

In the fading evening light, the Verona cemetery takes on an otherworldly countenance. The white and grey stones begin to glow orange, making the surroundings seem as if they’ve been set alight by fire.

 _As this city found itself to be more days than not_ , thought Benvolio Montague to himself.

He stood in front of Mercutio’s tombstone, his jaw clenching and grinding in a vain attempt to hold back the tears that welled in the corners of his eyes. The three of them had been brothers – together for mischief and sorrow, laughter and heartbreak. Benvolio had been the level headed of the three, always there to talk Mercutio down from some fool scheme and reason with the ever emotional Romeo. Yet, now he stood, alone amongst the dead, almost wishing that he could be there in the company of his kinsmen.

But it was not to be. He was betrothed to a Capulet – the very one Romeo so loved not more than a month ago. It was his responsibility to right the error of his cousin and bring peace to the city with this union. Benvolio let out a mirthless laugh.

Peace – a word not used to describe any measure of Rosaline Capulet’s person. She was as fiery and stubborn as any woman he’d come to know. Always one with a quick retort, she would most definitely keep him on his toes once they were wed. He sighed deeply. Marriage to a woman he did not love and who barely tolerated him in return. He’d already turned down such a union procured by his uncle and now he would not escape the second. Surely, God truly wanted to test him in this life.

A sound drew him from his thoughts – footsteps just a short distance away from where he stood. He turned, expecting to see another mourner – there were so many nowadays with the constant deaths of Capulets and Montagues.

A small sound of surprise escaped his lips as he spied Rosaline Montague among the monuments to Verona’s dead. She did not see him, focused as she was on where she was going. He watched as his fiancé made her way toward the Capulet gravestones, but continued past the statue of Juliet and stopped in front of two smaller markers.

He found himself unreasonably annoyed at seeing her here alone. He ran a gloved hand through his hair and sighed in frustration. Just two days ago he’d gone Capulet’s villa to discuss with her their plans to investigate the source of the attacks on the city. Even then did she protest his insistence upon a chaperone when leaving the safety of the Capulet household. Their conversation remained vivid in his memory.

_“Capulet, for the love of God, **please** listen to me.” Benvolio pleaded. “Whomever is behind these attacks will surely seek an opportunity to hurt you if you are out alone.”_

_She had sighed and rolled her eyes - something he found she did prior to almost every conversation they had. He was becoming more attached to this little quirk of hers._

_“Really, Montague, I think you might be overreacting.”_

_He’d grown serious then. As genuinely concerned for her as he’d been just after Truccio’d fallen to his death. Benvolio stepped forward and placed a hand on her upper arm, an action which surprised his betrothed, but did not cause her to recoil._

_“I am not. Truccio attacked you that day knowing who you were. You must know that if that ignorant clotpole could be swayed to evil purpose, others will too. You are in danger when outside these walls alone.”_

_Her eyes had cast downward momentarily, the first he’d seen her relent in any argument. Benvolio supposed he would not see this side of the Capulet often._

_“I will do as you ask, Montague.” She’d spoken softly._

Yet here she was, alone amongst the dead and, should there be anyone about who planned her harm, he wasn’t sure how best to protect both her and himself. He moved closer, intent on upbraiding his fiance for her irresponsibility, but stopped short at the sound of quiet sobs escaping her chest. The young Montague should not have been surprised that a woman would cry at a gravesite – but Rosaline Capulet’s vulnerability caught him unawares. In the time he’d known her, he’d seen only strength and confidence. Yet here she stood – as broken and grief stricken as he.

Curious that death would bring them such common ground - sadder still that it was death that brought them to marriage in the first place.

Benvolio took a step to his side, intending to wait until she’d finished. He put some distance between himself and Rosaline, but not so much that he wouldn’t know when she moved. It took only a few more moments before her whispered words and soft tears came to an end. His bride to be began walking back down the path to the main gate when she spied Benvolio leaning against a crypt.

She was startled, then took a deep, exasperated breath and acknowledged him.

“Montague.”

He bowed in response. “Capulet.”

Rosaline’s brow furrowed. “Why...are you here?”

“You’re not the only person who’s come to pay respects to the dead today.”

She shook her head and attempted to slyly wipe the wetness from her eyes. “Yes...of course. Apologies.” Rosaline began to walk and Benvolio took his place by her side.

Benvolio shrugged. “No apology necessary. Although I feel I am owed your deference in light of your disobedience.”

“My what?” She stopped and turned her body towards him, her arms now crossed in front of her chest. He had to admit, seeing Rosaline Capulet in a state of frustration was beginning to entirely entertain him.

He winked. “A jape, Capulet.” Montague continued to walk and she followed in short order. “I did ask you to ensure an escort before leaving your villa, did I not?”

“You did and I did as you asked.” She waved her hand toward the gate. “The house steward waits for me.”

They reached the cemetery entrance, but there was no steward to be found. Benvolio cocked his head to the side and raised his eyebrow. He remained silent, knowing her frustration needed not the added flame of his teasing.

For several moments, Rosaline looked around the reasonably empty street to no avail. “He was to wait right here! That boy will have hell to pay when he returns.”  She huffed.

Benvolio hadn’t seen her this angry since the prince ordered their betrothal. It was almost refreshing to see her ire unleashed on someone else.

“Come, Capulet, I’ll see you home and you may strike the boy about the head all you wish later.” He offered his arm and, to his surprise, she accepted.

They walked for a few moments in silence before he spoke. “You did not stop at Juliet’s grave this night.”

“No.” Rosaline’s voice was quiet...reflective. “I went to see my parents. It’s been too long since I’ve visited their resting place and I wanted to…” She shook her head. “Nevermind.”

“You do not have to hold your tongue around me, Capulet. You never have before.” He turned his head to look at her, smiling softly. He’d expected an immediate reaction, but she simply returned his smile. After a moment, she continued.

“I wished to tell them of everything that’s transpired over the last few weeks. Much has happened and I scarcely believe it myself. I suppose saying it all aloud helps me to come to terms with what my life has become.”

He took a deep breath. “We live quite the spectacle. I dare say if either of us could have prevented the deaths of our cousins, we would have done so without hesitation. If only to have spared this city the days of bloodshed and violence.”

“Speaking of bloodshed and violence, Montague.” His fiance stopped walking and Benvolio’s gaze settled upon what she saw.  Three men approached, the one in the middle smiling broadly.

“Look here, brothers! It’s the happy couple! A Montague and a Capulet, out on the streets of Verona to show all of us the model of unity.”

It was now Benvolio’s turn to roll his eyes. _God’s teeth would it ever end_ , he thought to himself.

“Antonio, what a delight to see you in such fine spirits this evening. Forgive me if I cannot stop to talk as my beloved and I are expected at the Capulet villa.” Benvolio placed his hand firmly on top of Rosaline’s arm and resumed walking. He looked to her and nodded his head in an unspoken entreaty to move quickly. His wife to be tilted her head in agreement.

The three men followed close behind, laughing and sniggering to themselves. Dread began to pool in Benvolio’s stomach - a familiar feeling that welled before a fight. Antonio was the bastard son of a lesser born Montague cousin and was, perhaps, even more faithless than Truccio. An attack would come - now it was to determine how best to fight three men while protecting Rosaline.

He moved his hand from her arm and wound his fingers tightly upon the hilt of his sword ready to unsheathe the steel should need be.

“Benvolio, my friend!” His kinsman’s voice echoed off the stone that surrounded them. “You don’t have to wed this temptress. Remove yourself from this place and we will provide you a solution that will benefit all.” The elder Montague grabbed Benvolio’s shoulder and turned him around. Antonio grabbed at the center of his trousers, no doubt as to the implication of his words while the two younger men laughed.

Benvolio shook his head slowly as he stepped in front of Rosaline. “No, that you will not do. You seem to forget that we’ve fought before. I would hate for you to be shamed in front of your brothers.”

The large Montague paused and Benvolio could almost see the measurement of his words being weighed in his mind. Antonio smiled and put his hand on the hilt of his sword. “But there are three of us, _Lord_ Montague.” He spat.

A flicker of movement caught Benvolio’s eye and he saw the two young men place their hands on their sword hilts as well. In an instant, Benvolio unsheathed both his sword and dagger, placing the long blade at Antonio’s neck while his other arm outstretched toward the taller of the two young Montagues.

“Now, gentlemen, I will not ask again.” He spoke through gritted teeth, the muscles in his arms twitching in anticipation. “Begone or I shall open your innards for the beasts to feast upon this night.”

Anger descended upon Antonio’s face. “You are a _Montague_.  She is nothing but a Capulet whore…”

“You shut your filthy, villainous mouth!” Benvolio shouted and stepped forward to thrust the blade flush with Antonio’s neck. He watched as the skin gave way under the bright steel - only one more push and his mark would be found - another Montague dead.

He stood for several moments, listening to nothing but the blood rushing through his ears and Antonio Montague’s frightened breathing. The day he’d come to Rosaline’s rescue in the alleyway, he’d not given his actions a second thought. He hadn't realized who he'd saved until afterward. Even then, she was simply another Capulet. Now, however, she was his betrothed. The woman bound to him as he to her. He may not love her - may barely be able to tolerate her some days - but she was _his_. His to protect and, by God, he would honor his vow to do just that.

“I could kill you, Antonio. And I would not shed a tear in doing so. You act without honor and supreme cowardice. You have disgraced the house of Montague. My uncle and the prince will hear of this, mark my words. And when they are through with you, you will regret that you did not die this night.”

Benvolio's gaze remained locked on Antonio's as if daring the man to make a move. The larger man blinked before taking a step backward and raising his arms in surrender. The three men backed away slowly before turning around and walking hurriedly back down the street, glancing back to ensure Benvolio had not changed his mind and come for them after all. It was only after he watched them leave, that the young Montague lord lowered the blades to his sides.

Benvolio turned and saw Rosaline, standing with her feet planted wide, a dagger clutched tightly in both outstretched hands. Her eyes remained wild with fear and anger.  The Montague took a tentative step forward, she had yet to return her gaze to him, still focused on the retreating forms of the attackers.

“Capulet.” He spoke quietly. “ _Rosaline_ …”

The sound of her name stirred the maid from her concentration and she turned her face to him - the dagger still aloft in front of her body.

“All is well, lady.” Benvolio took a few more steps and gestured toward Rosaline. “When did you…?”

His betrothed let out a long breath and blinked her eyes as if waking up from slumber. She put her hands down slowly, staring at the dagger. Rosaline sheathed the blade, tucking it into a pocket inside her cloak.

“I felt it best to have a weapon of my own should fortunes turn.”

 _Would she never keep surprising him?_ He marveled at her strength. Time and again, she’d shown her courage in the face of danger. No wonder Escalus found her difficult to give up. She was a rare woman indeed.

Benvolio placed both blades in their sheaths and smiled. “Quite right, lady. Quite right. And on the morrow, I shall teach you to use it properly.”

She cocked her head and raised her eyebrow - mimicking his earlier gesture. “Will you now?”

He laughed, the remaining tension draining quickly. “Yes, Capulet I will. Who knows, someday very soon you may be _my_ savior.”

It was her turn to chuckle at him. “Oh, Montague, of that I have no doubt.”

She placed her hand on his arm and Capulet and Montague walked together through the streets of Verona, speaking for the first time as friends.

~ooOOoo~


	5. Counting the Hours v2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More of the Counting the Hours prompt plus babyfic because yes.

~ooOOoo~

Rosaline watched Benvolio pace the length of the garden for what must have been the hundredth time. The man, as she'd found out in vivid detail during the first two years of their marriage, did not deal with tension well. The first sign of worry began with the clenching of his jaw. Next came physical outlets - walking, riding, sculpting or painting. Something to keep him busy as he mulled over whatever it might be that occupied his thoughts. She smiled, watching her husband's slow and deliberate steps, his hands clasped behind his back. How far they'd come since that day in the chapel, meeting for the first time as their cousins professed their love before God. Rosaline and Benvolio Montague had also professed their love - but not in the Capulet cathedral on their wedding day. No, their love had grown more slowly, built on a friendship that surprised them both. As much as she'd cursed Escalus for his decree - and breaking her heart in the process - she now thanked him for wedding her to the finest of the Montagues.

Her thoughts were interrupted by one of the house maids bringing a tray of drink and food to her side. A sweet girl, Catherine always seemed to appear when Rosaline was in need. The maid placed the tray on a side table next to the bench on which Lady Montague sat - the hardness of the wood softened by a pillow brought to her by her husband.

"Thank you." Rosaline smiled as Catherine curtsied and departed the garden.

Rosaline trailed her hand slowly over her swollen belly. The birth of their first child was imminent - the midwife certain the babe would come any day. Her apprehension expressed itself in calm focus. Her husband, on the other hand, had apparently chosen pacing as the method to distract his mind. So much pacing.

Throughout hallways.

In the garden.

Up and down stairs.

Everywhere Rosaline went, Benvolio followed. And with her husband came his endless fidgeting. She loved him for his attention to her, but the poor man was going to wear himself out and push her to lose her mind in the process.

"Montague, enough!"

At the sound of her raised voice, Benvolio raced to her side, his face a mask of alarm. "Rose...is it time? Do I need to send for the physician?" He placed his hand gingerly on her stomach. If he hadn't been so panicked, Rosaline might actually have laughed. She  reached up to stroke his face, reveling in the sensation of his beard in her fingers. She loved to look into those deep blue eyes and lose herself in the feel of his skin under hers. For as much as she’d protested their union in the beginning, she was only ever grateful for her husband now.

“I am well. The babe still maintains residence and I feel no pains yet.” She removed her hand and held it out to him, a gesture to help her stand. Benvolio did as he was bid and she stood up, once again placing her hands on either side of his face so that she could look him in the eyes - those deep, beautiful eyes.

“You, husband, need to go away.”

His brow furrowed. “I will do no such thing. You are ready to…”

She stopped his protest with a kiss - something she’d found not only worked to halt his frantic thoughts, but calm her heart as well. Rosaline felt her husband’s body relax, his arms enveloping her body and drawing her closer. As it always did, his touch bloomed a familiar warmth in her chest and she wound her fingers into his hair, eliciting a moan from her beloved.

“Wife…”

“Husband…” She responded, as teasingly as she could.

He made to kiss her again and she pulled back, smiling. “The midwives say the babe may not come for days. If I have to watch you walk back and forth aimlessly through this garden one more time, I’ll like to scream. Go with Luca for a ride. Or be off to the architect’s to chisel another new statue.” She placed another kiss on his lips. “When you return, we’ll see if we can’t bring about my labor in a more pleasing fashion.”

Benvolio smiled wickedly and kissed her deeply, the moan now coming from her own mouth. A good and dutiful husband was he, indeed. She broke the contact and chuckled. “Now, go before we scandalize the entire household.”

The smile on his face fell quickly. “I don’t want to leave you, Rose. What if…?”

She cut him off before he could spin himself into worry once more. “Ben...I'll be fine. You won’t be far and you’ll tell Arturo where you’ve gone. Someone will fetch you should anything happen. Now be off with you.”

He nodded his head, then bent down to place a kiss to her stomach and whispered. “I’m counting the hours, little one.”

Rosaline’s heart was like to burst with love. How could one man bring her such exasperation and unceasing joy at the same time?

Benvolio stood once more and placed a kiss to her mouth. “You’ll send for me.”

“Yes.” She nodded.

He took a few steps back and stopped. “I’ll go to the architect’s - he’s close.”

“Go, husband.” She wiggled her fingers at him.

He smiled at her one last time before departing. She stood alone and, once more, trailed her hand over her belly - feeling the movement of her child within.

“Your mother and father are _both_ counting the hours, little Montague.”

The baby kicked in agreement.

Rosaline laughed.

~ooOOoo~


	6. Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosvolio + one of them defending the other to their households and they get closer to falling in love

~ooOOoo~

Benvolio’s face flushed red with anger and shame; both his jaw and fists clenched shut. He cast his eyes downward, not wishing to see anyone witness his humiliation.

“That is _enough_!”

Rosaline Capulet’s voice echoed in the room and Benvolio’s head snapped up. He watched in awe as she strode toward his uncle, her delicate finger pointed at Lord Montague’s chest.

“Don’t you _ever_ speak of Benvolio like that again.” His fiancé’s tone was low and threatening – the rage shone forth from her dark eyes.

“He is the best and most honorable man I know. You belittle him at every turn yet here he stands, ready to do what he must to end a war and bring peace to his city. _That_ is what it means to be noble.”

The Montague lord tilted his head, his eyes narrowed at the woman in front of him. “I think you’ve said quite enough, _Lady_ Capulet.” The sarcasm dripped from his tongue like honey.

The corner of Rosaline’s mouth moved upward – the ghost of a smile upon her face. Benvolio remained stunned at her courage when his faltered so greatly - at least where his uncle was concerned.

“It will be Lady _Montague_ soon enough, will it not, my lord?” She turned and walked slowly over to where Benvolio stood and put her hand through the crook of his arm. “You have money. But my name brings power to your family. When Benvolio and I wed, it will be the two of us that propel your power to greater heights.”

Rosaline guided the them forward and stopped in front of Benvolio's uncle. “Therefore, it would behoove you to treat my husband with the respect he deserves.” She leaned forward ever so slightly. “Or it will be my great pleasure to bend the ear of my dear friend, Princess Isabella.”

Benvolio almost laughed when she had the presence of mind to curtsy before leading the two of them out of the study and into the garden, but he was too stunned to form coherent words. Rosaline stopped and turned toward him. On her face – _her beautiful face_ – an expression of concern.

“Are you alright?” She asked, her hand glancing over his bicep.

“Yes, thanks to my savior.” Rosaline laughed at his response – _had he ever noticed how lovely her laugh was before?_

“I lost my temper.” Her eyes remained alight with pride.

“You did what I could not.” His eyes drifted downward again, his shame piquing anew.

He felt her hand cup his cheek and he closed his eyes – afraid to look at her face while, all at once, reveling in the feel of her skin against his.

“Do you remember the afternoon we spent at the picnic forced upon us by your uncle?” Benvolio opened his eyes and found hers. He nodded. “You told me of Romeo and Mercutio. It was not much but enough for me to understand that you are a good and loyal friend. That loyalty extends to your uncle as well. Even though his loyalty to you is sometimes in question.”

She removed her hand from his cheek and brought it down to grasp his hand in hers. “As much as it pains me to admit it, Montague, I have watched you these last weeks. I have found you to be worth my trust…and my friendship. I will always protect my friends.”

Benvolio smiled. “So…friends then.”

Rosaline shrugged and smiled in return. “We are fortunate. Marriages have been built on far less.”

It was his turn to laugh. “Like being forced by the nobility to marry an enemy?”

She chuckled and cast her eyes downward and Benvolio thought his heart might leap from his chest at the gesture. Rosaline was even more lovely when embarrassed.

“Yes, something like that.”

“Then I thank you, _friend_. Not many would have done what you did.” He absently brushed a stray lock of hair from her face and noticed that she did not shy away from his intimate gesture.

“I dare say you would have done the same for me.”

_That and more. I would protect you with my life._ Benvolio mused.

“Montague?” Her brow furrowed with the unfinished question.

He took her hand and placed it in the crook of his arm once again. “Let us walk through the streets of Verona to celebrate our _friendship_.”

Rosaline tilted her head, a question still on her mind, he could see. But she did not give it voice. Instead, she smiled sweetly. “I would be delighted.” They began to walk to the entrance when she whispered, “And even more delighted to spend some of your uncle’s money.”

At that, Benvolio howled with laughter. Rosaline was, indeed, a good friend.

_And friends often become lovers,_ an inner voice whispered.

The Montague smiled, hopeful and content to be with his...Capulet.

~ooOOoo~


End file.
